The Noise In My Head

 A friend asked me the other day why I wasn’t blogging much these days. Truth is, I got busy, and then I just didn’t really feel like it. Made me realize I need to get back to it. Mostly because writing helps me process my feelings and the noise in my head. And right now, there’s a lot of both.

So, the busy part? My son Jude graduated from high school at the end of May. I kind of got obsessed with that. Like soccer-mom obsessed. After being on lockdown and then quarantine, virtual school, and then his dad dying, I wanted to make sure his senior year was as close to perfect as possible. I spent prom, his last music performances, the last week of his senior year, and all of the graduation events in tears. All I could see when I looked at him was that little boy that used to jump up and wrap his little arms around my neck and give the biggest kisses.

I even took him on a trip to Boston after graduation to go to the Boston Calling music festival. For a kid that’s never been to a concert, he finally got the full music festival experience. We had the best time ever. We staked out our places out front for both nights of Nine Inch Nails. Run the Jewels. Weezer. Cheap Trick. But stayed in the back for Metallica after Jude got a bad ear infection that I stuffed with an ear plug and later won the award for ‘worst mom ever’ from his doctor. But totally worth it.

We walked all over Boston and ate something amazing at almost every stop. Took the subway everywhere. And talked a lot. Which isn’t always easy with Jude. He reminds me so much of me it hurts sometimes because I know how he’s feeling. Likes to be quiet in his thoughts. Easy going. But when something excites him, he can go on and on and that’s when I stop and enjoy a chance to talk. The rest of the time, we just moved around in silence, enjoying the time together, but respecting each other’s space and not asking questions. I hope we can always do that.

Then I took a trip to Manchester, England, all by myself. I planned the trip after I decided on the spur of the moment to buy Foo Fighters tickets for Old Trafford. I had always wanted to go to a big rock concert at one of those giant stadiums in England and just decided, what the hell? I hit the ‘buy’ button and the concert later sold out in less than five minutes. Obviously, that was canceled, but my family got me tickets to see Red Hot Chili Peppers in Manchester, so I stuck with my plan and boarded the plane in June and set off on my own with a hotel reservation, backpack, passport, and no idea what I was going to do aside from the concert. I hit the concert the first day there and it was just like I imagined it would be.

I spent the rest of the week wandering around the city, eating my weight in pies and cakes, checking out museums, shopping, and people watching. I made a promise to nap every day and stuck to that. It was probably the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever allowed myself to do and worth every penny. I highly recommend solo vacations if you are brave enough. And if you aren’t, just invite me.

The rest of the summer was spent navigating Veronica’s depression, work problems, and hoping I had enough money saved to pay for Jude’s college. I finally bought the house from Robby and became a solo house owner for the first time in my life. Bought a car that I love to drive. Spent a lot of time with my besties doing cocktail nights and long brunches, and got some good time in with my family.

And then, this week, I ended a relationship with a man I was very much in love with. And that’s the ‘I really didn’t feel like it’ part of not writing much. Because I knew the end was coming, but I just didn’t know how it would end. I kept waiting for him to end things because I knew something was off, but that never happened, and things would be great. He would assure me things were fine and to just enjoy what we had, and I’d ignore that tiny voice in my head saying something was wrong and chalk it up to hormones or being tired. I kept thinking he would get to where I was, but then I finally got the confirmation I needed to know, and he wasn’t. So, I angrily walked away. And that was it. Just like that. Heartbroken.

Break-ups are always hard no matter how old you are, but luckily they get easier with me as I get older and hopefully wiser. I know it hurts a lot at first but if I keep focused on myself and stay busy, then in a few weeks, I’ll be back to my new routines without that feeling that something is missing. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again so the people in the back can hear, it makes no sense to survive traumatic experiences and not learn from them so you can do better as life moves on—and therapy helps, a lot. Because life does move on. Even when you don’t want it to. And you never know what great adventure will happen next so it’s worth it to stick with life and keep moving forward, even when you don’t want to.

It's better to board that plane to a place you’ve never been, all by yourself, than sit at home and wait for life to happen or change. It’s hard. But worth it. I haven’t given up on love or finding someone I can happily spend the rest of my life with, but I’m not going to settle for half-way. It’s all or nothing for me. And to some, that may seem like I want too much. But we all deserve happiness. Even me. Even you. Why waste any more time on crumbs when you can sit at a café by the water in Manchester all by yourself and eat the biggest slice of Victoria sponge cake while reading a great book and listening to the entire Foo Fighter’s Sonic Highways album while people-watching? Yes, I know, oddly specific.

But that can be that moment where you realize life is too short to settle for crumbs. To settle for ‘I do love you and I’m sure I’ll get all-the-way in love with you one day.’ And if I’m honest about the recent breakup, I don’t hate him. I am angry at him, but I feel like people come into your life to get you to that next step and that’s what he did for me. I wish it could have turned into what I thought it could be because we had more in common than anyone I’ve ever dated, but it didn’t, and I’m actually fine with that. You can’t make someone love you. I learned that a long time ago, the hard way.

With the gentle pushing hands of my family and friends, I somehow keep moving forward to this life I know I was meant to live. I don’t know when I’ll get there, but for now, I’ll turn up the music Jude and I shared together, savor the times Veronica feels like spending with me, let my friends and family love on me, and keep taking crazy adventures by myself.

Because the music isn’t over until it’s over and I’m still out front, singing at the top of my lungs, to my favorite bands, with the people I love the most, right by my side. Even with that guy that is somehow no longer on this planet but finds time every day to shout out to me when I least expect it, “Hey, Texas, you’ve got this.”

At a crossroad

Definition of crossroad

1: a road that crosses a main road or runs cross-country between main roads
2: usually crossroads\ˈkrȯs-​ˌrōdz also -​ˈrōdz

a: the place of intersection of two or more roads
b: a small community located at such a crossroads : a central meeting place c : a crucial point especially where a decision must be made 

***

A long time ago—back when I only had one child and I was married to someone else, I came to a place in my life most people would call a crossroad. It was about 16 years ago. I was moving from Columbus, Ga. to Savannah, Ga. My daughter was about 2 years old and I’d been married about 6 years. I was an Army wife living that Army life--that’s the reason we were moving again.

I didn’t really know anything about Savannah but apparently that was a good career move for the Army at the time so that’s where we went. While he was busy doing career stuff, it seemed the best for me to drive out to the new house and get there a few days before the movers were supposed to show up while he finished tying up loose ends at work.

The night before I left Columbus, I looked over the map to make sure I knew the best way to get across the state. Columbus is on west side of the state—just touching the Alabama border. Savannah is almost touching the Atlantic Ocean. I would need to make my way through some rural areas and small towns to get to I-16 which would lead me all the way to Savannah.

I would know I was close to where I needed to go when I hit I-95. I traced my fingers along the route and hovered over I-95 for a while. I-95 goes north to south—if I took it north, I could take it all the way to Boston. That would be a little more than 1,000 miles away from where I supposed to go. The idea of going somewhere else, somewhere secret, was the first time I was a little excited about the move.

What if I just got on I-95 and went north and kept driving until I couldn’t drive any farther? It would be days before anyone would realize I didn’t make it Savannah and who would ever guess I would leave like that—of course I would tell my sister about the plan once I made it but no one else would know. No one in Boston would know me and I could just blend in and start a new life.

At the time, I’m not really sure if I knew how miserable and lonely I was. Thinking back, I know I wasn’t very social at the time despite living in a housing area on Ft. Benning that was a cluster of row houses linked together in a circle with a large playground in the middle of that circle. You could walk out your back door everyday and see just about everyone you were supposed to know and hang out with. It was an instant play date just about any hour of the day and for stay-at-home moms, that may sound like the perfect place to live.

But I felt watched and judged and I mostly stayed to myself. My daughter had major surgery to reconstruct her hips and legs and spent most of her time there in a body cast. Going outside in the circle meant I had to endure the sad looks and the constant, “let me know if I can do anything…” I had a few friends who “got it” but it was hard to really be consistent in my social time especially with all the doctor’s appointments and therapy and the feeling that I just really didn’t belong anywhere.

But Boston, that could be the answer. That could be the change I needed. A new start.

I went to bed that night envisioning driving to Boston. Thinking about how much money I could pull out in cash to live off until I could find another way to make money. How long would it be before anyone knew? How long until my husband realized I was gone? He’d probably be a little relieved in the end to finally just be done with it all so he could go on to the do the things that seemed to make him happier than being stuck at home with us.

He had already gone to work that morning by the time I loaded everything in my Jeep and pulled out of the circle for the final time. I drove out the front gates of Ft. Benning with the plan to head to Savannah. I looked in the rearview mirror to see my daughter in her car seat. Her baby doll wrapped in her arms and a smile on her face.

Looking back on that year in Ft. Benning, it’s no surprise I was unhappy. My husband had decided that he would spend every day working on his boxing in hopes he could join the Army boxing team or somehow go pro. It meant going to the boxing gym downtown every night, no matter what. I needed help at home but on the nights I insisted he stay home and help, he made everything so miserable I would eventually just say, “you know, I’m fine. Really, go ahead and go to the gym.” Even after my daughter’s major surgery in Atlanta, he had his mind set on getting back to Columbus that day so he would work out—despite my gut instinct and the nurses’ advice, we packed up my daughter and took her back home even though her oxygen levels were very low.

Leaving to drive north on I-95 seemed to be the best way out. If I told him I was unhappy, it would have been a fight. If I said I didn’t want to move to a small city with no children’s hospital, it would have been a fight. I could make it work, I always had. And besides, you don’t just walk away.

Between the stops for diaper changes and food, I hit I-95 almost 6 hours after I left Columbus. The signs started popping up about nine miles away from the turn. My heart was beating faster and faster as I got closer to the exit. I kept looking at the rearview mirror wondering what my daughter would think of me one day knowing I had taken her away on my own to live in some unknown place. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the plan. The only thing that kept me wanting to make that exit was the thought that somehow leaving might make him realize I didn’t want to be married to him any longer. I hated our life. I was beginning to hate him. I hated it when he was home and I hated that I depended on him for almost everything.

Before I knew it, I took the exit for I-95, but I stayed in the right lane and went south toward my hotel. I would not be going on an adventure to gain attention from a husband who seemed to not love me anymore. I would do what I was supposed to do and show up at the new house and welcome another group of movers into my new home and start a new life again with strangers in a town I had no connection to.

That crossroad on I-95 would continue to haunt me for next several months as I drove around town going to appointments and trying to discover this new place that was my home, wondering if I had made a mistake. I kept the secret from everyone, even my sister. Until about four months after the move when my husband and I got into a fight. He told me how miserable he was, and I did the same.

“You know, when I was moving out here, I saw the exit for I-95 north and I thought about getting on it and just driving as far away from you as I could get and starting a new life.”

The shock on his face was unexpected. He was hurt. I think he was so consumed with his unhappiness in our marriage that it had never occurred to him that I was planning to leave him. It changed something in our marriage, and we started trying to work on our relationship. I got pregnant with our son and he eventually quit going to the boxing gym every night. Obviously, it didn’t last long, but we tried and for a while I think we were probably really happy, and I didn’t think about driving 1,000 miles to get away from my life until many years later.

But I take those crossroad moments in my life a lot more seriously now and right now I think I am once again at one of those moments--only this time I’m not trying to leave an unhappy marriage. I’m trying to take that leap to the next stage in the career I’ve been trying to build since the divorce. That leap that takes me a thousand miles away from where I am now even though I have no roadmap and no idea of where that next destination is—all I know is that this place right now is not where I am supposed to be and I can keep driving in the same direction or I can take the next exit and drive until the road ends somewhere totally new.